Playwright Meets Playboy
by SodaWizard
Summary: Alfred learns the depth of love his roommate, Arthur, holds for the long deceased playwright William Shakespeare.


" _What does God hold against sacred romance?_

 _He infects my thoughts and I lose mine breath_

 _My soul, struck by Cupid in quintessence;_

 _The gent has brought me to Heaven outside of death._

 _._

 _God is cruel to his children, nev'theless!_

 _I love him, yet he tumbles my friends._

 _Just, the gent wilt not descry mine distress,_

 _I wilt not ail him with guilt from broke amends._

 _._

 _I crave to relish in his affection_

 _He is the passion of my heart to start_

 _Yes, he's the embod'ment of perfection_

 _Glaucous windows, brave 'larum, tender heart..._

 _._

 _Aye torture lest my gent feel scorn'd!_

 _Gracious for chance, while own heart unreturn'd._ "

"...The fuck, dude?"

Arthur's chest hollowed out into a sharp wheeze. The whimsical and calm emotion that had plastered his face was immediately wiped from his countenance. Within moments, his eyes were wide open as he internally seethed. What a way to kill the flow! Alfred was such a dick.

Arthur rolled to the other side of his bed, reached for one of his notebooks, and tossed it in Alfred's general direction. It was filled with rejected poetry lines, so Arthur didn't really care if the papers ended up bent or awry. He watched as it skittered across the floor and disrupted Alfred's chaotic organization of chemistry and biology notes. Sadly, it had missed his college room companion. Alfred whipped his head around to chastise Arthur, but he was cut off before a sound could leave between his lips.

"It's a sonnet, you ninny!"

Alfred leaned forwards to grab the poetry notebook and tossed it over his shoulder, uncaring if Arthur caught it or not.

"I, like… I understood that much, but you had me lost at 'what does'. I don't see the point in reciting it to me when I don't understand a single word of it! I don't even know what like... 'glaucous' means. You'd get better help reading it to yourself in the bathroom mirror," Alfred suggested with little interest. He was nicely seated on the floor of their dorm, fully engulfed in late assignments and notes. He was about to return to a long forgotten math assignment before Arthur (rudely) started to talk again.

"It's a color."

"What?"

"Glaucous. It's a color," Arthur informed, his lips pursed into an unamused frown as he glared down at his companion. After years of rooming together, though, Alfred could never take Arthur's upset expressions seriously.

"The poem's a class assignment, too. I have to write a Shakespearean sonnet about personal love. You don't need to understand the words, asshole. I just need to know if it sounds romantic..."

"Yeah, if we were in the thirteenth century!" Alfred replied, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Arthur breathed out a displeased sigh. "Shakespeare was around in the fifteenth century." He set his pencil down. "No wonder you failed your poetry unit."

"Hey! I failed my poetry unit because I skipped the class twice a week and didn't bother to catch up on notes. And I take pride in that!" Alfred paused to take a swig from a cup nicely seated in his lap. It was an ungodly concoction of espresso shots and some energy drink, and Arthur threw up a bit in his mouth every time he had to witness Alfred drink it. "Just... I don't know. Give me the No Fear Shakespeare translation and I'll tell you if it's good or not instead. Shakespeare's totally not the way to get a girl, Art. Er, guy, in both of our cases. How do you think I get laid so often? Not by studying some old geezer who liked to make dick jokes. Take a look at this handsome bod! Guys dig passion and muscles, or at least the ones who like me. You're better off getting a stud by sagging your pants and showing off a tattoo," Alfred disregarded. He missed Arthur's uncomfortable expression at the mention of the people he slept with as he took another drink of his caffeinated mistake.

"...I have a tattoo."

All concentration that may have entered Alfred's brain immediately evacuated as soon as he processed what Arthur said. "Wait, what? Really?" He couldn't recall Arthur ever mentioning a tattoo. Not snobby, haughty, stuck-up, obnoxious Arthur! Though, Alfred's interested expression fell when he took a long glance at his workload. He didn't have time to be interested in Arthur's tattoos. He needed to be studying and catching up on homework assignments.

"Whoop-dee-doo, Art! I'm learning a bunch of new stuff today! None of which will help me pass my Bio-Stats final!" Alfred exclaimed with tired sarcasm, unintended venom in his voice. How petty.

Arthur took the hint that Alfred was tired of talking to him and returned to the poem in his lap, quietly scribbling improvements in the margins of his paper. Alfred's brash attitude was unnecessary and unwarranted, and they both knew it. Alfred always got grouchy when he was tired and stressed, though, so Arthur somewhat understood.

The air was tense between them for a few minutes, Arthur quietly fuming and Alfred unhappily working. In an attempt to break the uncomfortable air between them, Alfred dared to continue their conversation. "Where's your tattoo?"

Alfred took a sip of his heart attack inducing beverage.

"It's a tramp stamp."

And Alfred immediately spat it out over his chemistry notes.

"What?" he screeched, turning around to give Arthur a bewildered stare. "You're not serious!"

Now it was Arthur's turn to be petty. "Yes, I'm serious. Shouldn't you be studying?"

"Not when I know you have a tramp stamp..! You have to show me! Absolutely have to!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You want to see the tattoo that's above my ass?"

Alfred hadn't thought of it like that. But he was too far in to back out! "Uh... Yeah! I got'ta see your tramp stamp, Arthur. I'll never be able to focus on my work if I don't! And then I'll fail all of my classes and it'll be your fault!"

Alfred was the queen of over-exaggeration, but Arthur nonetheless complied.

He slipped out of bed and turned his back to his nosy roommate, taking a moment to hike up his shirt. Alfred admired the indent of Arthur's back as he struggled with his belt, eyes greedily taking notice of the gentle curve and well toned muscles he supported. Alfred indulged himself on Arthur whenever he could. After many late night conversations with his (hot) roommate, Alfred assumed that he just wasn't Arthur's type and their relationship would fall apart if he attempted to pursue the fiery Brit. But, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, and Alfred happily let his gaze travel down towards Arthur's perky ass as he fiddled with the buckle in frustration.

After a few more moments of lustfully checking his roommate out, Arthur managed to free himself and hiked his jeans down past the curve of his hips.

It was at that moment that Alfred's eyes landed on the wispy black calligraphy right above the curve of Arthur's ass. The lines were detailed and precise, etching out a beautifully scripted... Name?

Alfred's heart sank.

Arthur had a name tattoo! Arthur had a boyfriend! And his name was...

"William?" Alfred paused, awkwardly attempting to clear the emotion out of his throat. He thought name tattoos were a death sentence to a relationship, but he'd never tell Arthur that if he was still dating the lucky guy. He didn't know why Arthur never mentioned their potentially on-going or failed relationship to him, but that was his roommate's choice. "Who's William?"

"William Shakespeare."

"Oh my God, Arthur," Alfred sputtered, his previously hurt feelings thrown from his person as he busted into a fit of horribly loud laughter. "Are you serious? You're serious!" He snorted.

It got to the point that Alfred felt tears in his eyes and he had to lift his glasses to wipe them away. "I can't fucking believe you! I literally can't! Oh my god! You got a tramp stamp for William Shakespeare? What the fuck, Arthur? What the actual fuck?" He laughed, homework long forgotten as he got a closer look of the tattoo.

"It was my Sophomore year and I got shit-faced at a party," Arthur explained, reaching a hand back and gently pressing his fingertips against the inked skin. "What else would you expect from me? At least my other one isn't bad."

"You have another one?" Alfred gaped, jumping up from his spot on the floor and quickly stepping to Arthur's side. He was fully expecting his roommate to show it, bouncing on his heels and trying to imagine where it might be placed. It couldn't have been on his arm because he had seen Arthur in t-shirts before. It couldn't have been on his foot because he had seen Arthur without shoes plenty of times. It couldn't have been on his ankle or lower leg because he had seen Arthur in shorts (oh god, had he enjoyed seeing Arthur in shorts).

"It's a quote from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. And it's on my inner thigh. Now, unless you want to see me strip down past my boxers, I'm not showing you."

Even though Alfred definitely didn't mind the idea, he had a feeling Arthur would. He could only imagine how intimately those words were placed, and quickly clamped his mouth shut lest he be caught gawking at the thought of such a personal tattoo.

"You realize, like... You have hoe tattoos, right? Tramp stamp, inner thigh... They're total hoe tattoos."

Arthur gave a defeated shrug and nodded in agreement. "You're not wrong." He hiked his pants back up over his hips and tightened his belt.

"You're a hoe for Shakespeare, Arthur! A total hoe! You probably jerk off to like... Macbeth!"

"Oh god, no!" Arthur spun around to shoot a bewildered stare at Alfred's laughing face. It was only a few moments before he came up with a reply. "...If anything, I'd masturbate to one of his love sonnets," he smugly returned, clasping his belt closed as he awaited the crash of gasps and sputtering from his roommate.

He didn't think it was humanly possibly for Alfred to screech as loud as he did. "Oh my god, Arthur!"

"What? I was just being honest." Arthur plopped himself back down onto his bed beside his literature homework.

"I... I don't think you should talk to me. I'm going to need a solid twenty minutes to reflect back on my life and recover from this. I can't believe you, Arthur," the American chastised, his eyes still wide as he tried to process the fact that his roommate admitted that he would get off to poetry written by a wrinkly old man that had been dead for multiple centuries. Who hurt Arthur enough to turn to that kind of life? He supposed finals week was a dark time for everyone.

Arthur easily returned to his homework, scribbling away notes for his poem as Alfred attempted to do the same. In between chemistry problems, though, he found himself giggling in memory of Arthur's tattoos and intense love for Shakespeare.

The silence between them didn't last long.

"Hey Arthur," Alfred called in between childish laughs. He bit down on his lower lip to prevent any more giggles from leaving his throat, but his poor friend's life choices were extremely amusing.

"What?" Arthur murmured, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity as he lifted his gaze from his work.

"Is it about him?"

"Is what about who?"

"Your love sonnet! Is it about Shakespeare? Are you confessing your love to William?"

Arthur sighed. It was obvious that he was beginning to regret his decision of showing Alfred his tattoo. "No, it's not about Shakespeare. It's about someone else." If this was how the night was going to go, Arthur needed a fistful of Ibuprofen and a bottle of whiskey. "Though, I finished writing the modern version of it. It doesn't translate into a sonnet nor does it rhyme, but it's still easier to understand, if you want to hear it."

"Go for it, Willie Shakes."

Arthur rolled his eyes hard enough that it hurt.

 _"What does God have against real romance?_

 _This man, always on my mind, makes me lose my breath_

 _My soul has been struck by Cupid's arrow in the purest form;_

 _He is a sliver of Heaven outside of dying._

 _._

 _But God is cruel!_

 _I love him, but he..."_

Arthur hesitated, his gaze travelling towards Alfred's bed. He quickly diverted his eyes away and cleared his throat before his pause in speech became too noticeable.

"...s _leeps with my friends._

 _I refuse to tell him how much he's hurt me in the process,_

 _I would never pressure him with the guilt that may come from unknowingly hurting his close friend._

 _._

 _I want to be the one he loves_

 _He is the one that made me realize what love is_

 _He is beyond perfect_

 _Glaucous eyes..."_

Arthur gave Alfred a pointed gaze as he repeated the word his friend complained he didn't know.

 _"...handsome body, passionate heart..._

 _._

 _I'll endure the hurt of watching him love others lest he hate me for how I feel_

 _I'm blessed by the mere chance of meeting him, but punished by God while my feelings stay unrequited."_

Arthur looked up from his notebook once he finished. Alfred's gaze seemed stuck in a cross between concentration and concern, causing a shock of anxiety to shoot through his chest.

"...So?"

Alfred looked down towards the carpet and licked his lips. "I..." A quick breath. "Wow, Arthur... I don't know what to say."

"Is that a good 'I don't know' or a bad 'I don't know'?" Arthur asked, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"It's a good 'I don't know'!" he was quick to respond, wishing to stomp out any wisp of doubt that Arthur may have began to hold. "It's pretty. It's really pretty. Seriously. Please read it again."

Alfred wasn't a poetry man by any means, but he could tell his friend threw his heart into his writing. And he knew that feeling of unrequited love all too well when it came to Arthur.

Arthur eyed Alfred wearily before he re-read the poem, sending side glances to his friend to make sure he was avidly paying attention until he was finished speaking.

"Wow, Arthur... Just wow. Get some, Shakespeare boy! Who's it about? Like, they guy who inspired your poetic word vomit?"

"That's... Not important." Arthur awkwardly cleared his throat. "I'm glad you like it."

Alfred decided not to badger Arthur about giving him a name, but he was still admittedly nosy and had more questions that needed to be answered. "Are you gonn'a read it to him?"

A flash of horror washed over Arthur's face. How was he supposed to answer that? Well, yes... But there was no way he would tell the man he was the subject of his romance.

"I, uh... I don't know. He'll more than likely make fun of me for it, like you've already displayed. And the Shakespeare version sounds dumb compared to the contemporary version," Arthur answered with uncertainty, his hand quickly rising to brush his fingers against the short hair on the back of his neck. A nervous tick.

Alfred didn't pry any more than that. After all, the thought of reading the poem to the guy Arthur liked must have shaken him up pretty badly for him to admit Shakespeare was dumb! "Well, they can't possibly make fun of you more than I do! I won't push 'ya, though." The American laughed in an attempt to break Arthur's tense expression.

All his roommate did was pinch a sad smile to his lips and start to put the poem away into the depths of his class binder.

Alfred decided to read the atmosphere for once and realized he was the one who made things awkward.

"So... What does your thigh tattoo say? Like, what Shakespeare quote?" That seemed like a fairly decent question. Something that would put an end to Arthur's upset and make him feel more like a kind but curious friend to his longterm crush.

" _'The course of true love never did run smooth_.' "

"That's really pretty."

"It's one of my favorite lines. It's from the first Shakespearean play I ever saw performed onstage."

Alfred gave a curt nod and smiled in response. His roommate really did love Shakespeare.

Arthur stood and stepped along Alfred's chaotic notes littering the floor. Binder in hand, he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Probably to read the poem to himself in front of the mirror like Alfred had suggested. Looking back on their conversation, Alfred felt like an ass.

The American picked up his phone from the mess of papers and unlocked the screen. After various spelling tries-"glowcus" and "glawcus" both just brought weird images of a blue sea slug-he found the actual definition of "glaucous". And it was a color! A pretty combination of grey and blue, most often found in eggs and a certain species of bird.

Alfred did, however, think that "glaucous" described the color of his own eyes very well, too.

 _"Glaucous windows, brave 'larum, tender heart?_

 _Glaucous eyes, handsome body, passionate heart..."_


End file.
